Dissonance
by Les Rallizes Denudes
Summary: Redwall's never been conquered.
1. Opposite of Left and Wrong

There's a ship on the seas next to the badger kingdom of Salamandastron. Large ship, enough to carry a full crew and many extra beasts. Adorning the hull is a teal inscription, that when not bobbing beneath the waves, plainly states, _•Lightning Sunset•_.

The _Lightning Sunset_ is captained by a surly ermine from the north who refers to himself as Andras. Andras is a very educated beast and a very ambitious one. He's a very persuading beast, wooing females with his look like ice and voice like rain, and incensing the petty thieves and common street urchins with promises of glory and a better life. He sailed this ship in sight of a realm called Mossflower, a domain he and his half-cult, half-crew would surely rule and harvest.

Here I use past tense- Andras no longer sails.

You see, Andras is dead, his throat cut, once-penetrating eyes glazed over. He's hung from his ship's mast like a common criminal. All around him, the _Lightning Sunset_ is in flames. A crescendo of fire and light and corpses that once held souls of beasts with dreams. Those dreams sink with this ship, crashing into the sea like a heart attack in motion.

The water swallows the fire. Andras is the last to go under, arms outstretched and dripping blood in crucifixion; eyes clouded but never shut; his head slowly tilting limply to his shoulder. Just as a martyr should look.

Never left his ship; just as any true captain would. Alas, true captains aren't crucified to their own sails.

The beasts that did this to Andras and his ship and his denizens are truly a despicable lot. Rumors abound of a sociopathic, savage wildcat and his bloodthirsty crew plundering the high seas. This wild feline, Dantalion, as he was called, did not seek fame or fortune or power specifically. He simply existed. Dantalion exists to take. That's his existence. The answer as to why? Simply enough, because.

Dantalion takes.

Thus, he exists.

He takes, he lives. That's his species and how it plays out. Nature's dictated it to be that way. Grass grows. Birds fly. Dantalion kills.

Dantalion is self-appointed captain of the _Horizon Runner_, a medium-sized fishing vessel. It no longer serves a role for fishing as when we took over the ship, we threw the original sailors- and their original intent, overboard to be fed to sharks.

Now, the _Horizon Runner_ holds Dantalion's Army. Really no larger than a small militia, this army sails past the shores of Salamandastron. The Long Patrol, the security force comprised of hares, is lined against the coast, weapons at the ready as the ship passes.

One of the younger members attempts to fire an arrow; the launched projectile lands far behind the ship.

I watch, from the starboard side, in a mixture of disappointment and amusement. I yearn to goad them on into more pointless threats, and greater than that is the craving to take an axe to one of their craniums.

That was rather harsh. I'd apologize, but most likely I'll do that again.

It's my nature.

* * *

As it is to report quickly when called to the deck, standing uniformly among the rogues gallery on the ship. A rat to my left shifts legs awkwardly, and a ferret to my right coughs loudly.

In front of us, Dantalion makes his move. Amber fur streaked with black stripes, covered in chainmail and leather, gleaming teeth like ivory knives and deep green eyes, the wildcat is built like his namesake and the air around him crackles with energy. Gripped in his left paw is a handcrafted spear which talon-like claws wrap around. Dantalion raps the bottom end of the spear against the deck. He has the attention of all of us now. Everyone watches him, and he watches all.

"Come dawn tomorrow," he begins, turning his head and canvassing the personnel in front of him. He has a scar just below his left eye, long and intense. "We will have reached land."

Halfhearted applause. I clap my paws together for what it's worth.

"This forest," he continues, "is no doubt populated by somebeasts. Nonetheless, it does not matter, as we will overcome."

Dantalion's never been a rousing public speaker, you see.

"We will reach land and it will become our domain. No longer bound by species, class, or anything else."

"You," and he's on a young pine marten in the crowd who tries to step back and gets no leeway. Upon seeing this, Dantalion seems to straighten his posture, staring.

"You, who have been conditioned to rear back at anything close, for that it may be your last." Then twisting and pointing to a weasel. "You, who was born into poverty with no way out," then arching back in my direction- "you, the fox who's family has been forced into a nomadic life,"

He goes on. I don't particularly remember anything about my family. I suppose that's not an entirely bad thing, as I cannot remember any negative points in my early life. Yet, it was lacking, but most of the things I recall are shades of gray and uncertainty.

Another feeling as well- anger.

That this, is something that was unavoidable. Either you're born a mouse or a squirrel or a desirable beast or born a vermin with no motive. Permanently forced to a middling life.

One of the few things I remember from my childhood is something my mother told me when the droughts were heavy and luck was scarce.

_Landeskog, my little Landeskog, my son; I know too well- three simple words bled us dry:_

_I love you._

Not soon after, she died and joined the everlong shades of silver that line the edges of my memory.

Dantalion has gotten most beasts added to his unit this way- playing off the misfortune and rage. It doesn't have to be this way. Some things are nature and destiny, but this isn't it. It has to change.

"Death to cowards, traitors, and empty words," Dantalion howls.

Feet stomp in unison and a battle cry rises. The wood beneath our paws creak and our voices are caught up in a razor-sharp wind.

"This is your memory, for these are your years and days to outshine."

In unison, suddenly roused, us, the vermin and the useless, we cry out:

_Push on and soar high!_

The winds of change are blowing. Mossflower is on the horizon.

* * *

i dedicate the upcoming chapters to the people i hate most in my life. (:


	2. Bitter

When we reach the Mossflower shores, my first instinct is to walk across the nearby woodland. It's the first land I've walked in a long time- the air, no longer reeking with the scent of the sea, and the toll taken on my sinuses are considerably lessened. But we have work to do, and not fulfilling your duties for Dantalion is betraying Dantalion- in extension betraying the crew as well.

So I suppress my instincts for now and help build a camp. Lumber. Tents. Fire. Security.

The labor is strenuous but everyone's high morale seems to raise the tempo. In little more than two hours, Dantalion is satisfied, and leaves us to do our relative business. He trusts us with gathering food because no one wants to fail him, nor live on an empty stomach.

This rejection of poverty brings me to crawling through the moss bed near the camp with two fellow members. Rask is a young ferret with a quick temper and a distaste for status quo. A very dangerous beast with a blade, but his discontent hasn't harmed me yet. The elder of this trip, and more or less the entire group, is a pine marten with as many battlescars as seasons and an aura like that of the grog I see sailors downing. He goes by the name Saw, as in the tool. Not his real name, but as he puts it, he's learned enough to know that names are trivial. Only roles.

Rask and Saw, they're having a back and forth pretty nicely here under the noon sun obscured by trees. A wind blows, yet the rustling of bushes are quieted over the conversation.

"It's why we're not just accepting the cesspool life, y'know," Rask is in the middle of a tangent about deserving things and other topics I didn't listen to fully. He steps over a stone and stops, craning his neck for anything edible in the distance. The ground beneath our paws is unnaturally soft and seems to crumble as we walk. Maybe I'm overstocking things.

"I d'n't who ever made you 'n me, but I know f'sure he didn't plop us down in the world thinking, 'well, these beasts here are forever crooks and brutes and despicable," Rask continues, now leaning up against a tree trunk, arms crossed. "We're more than that. Destined for more. We're better than that, bett'r than livin' our lives out by cheating, stealing, fighting and dying just to make a living. That's no life."

"Ain't no life I'd rather have, 'is all."

Saw plucks a leaf out from above, sighing as if he's explaining himself for the thousandth time. "If it's been this long livin' like this, what's g'nna be any different the next day?"

Rask opens his mouth to protest, but Saw raises his paw for silence, and not even Rask is ornery enough to speak out of turn against his elder.

"Me, I've lived a long life, mate. I've seen things that'll make anybeast shiver." Then, a brief pause, remembering. "I've done some of 'em too, and regret 'em."

"Rask, me boy, what I'm trying t'say is that- I've lived my entire life just like that. Ye'know it was rough, but I wouldn't have it any other way."

Rask shrugs, dismissively tilting his head. "...'S 'yer old school."

The statement elicits a chuckle, from the aging pine marten. "I ain't ever touched a school book in my life, but ye' just about right on that one. I'm set in stone, I can't change. Don't want to." Then Saw cocks his head in my direction. "Better off convincin' a young beast. Lander'll listen."

For a second, I think of how old Saw is to the point of not being able to say my name correctly (but then again, a nickname had picked up on the ship thanks to him) and that how this voyage, a strange journey to this place called Mossflower, could be his last.

"What about you, Lander? Just 'ere for the ride?"

Rask turns his head to me, fixing me with that stare. It's both inviting and repelling at the same time- his eyes alienate like sharp metal but welcome like an ethereal realm. They're hypnotizing and expecting, and they seem to belong on the tall and lanky mustelid.

"Well?"

I shrug. "You're putting me on the spot with that one. I do think you're right about how there's a better life deserved."

But then I raise my arms out akimbo, as an universal "I don't know" expression. "I don't know how to get to it. It's life, man. Things are in the way. Some beasts get past it to that life, some of them don't." Another shrug. "It's in our nature."

"So it's our nature to fail?"

"...Who knows? I don't, Saw doesn't, you don't." A voice in the back of my head exclaims Dantalion does! But I ignore it. "Some of us... Will fail, and that's why it is what it is. Some of us get though."

There's a pause and a silence. Rask snorts and starts canvassing the area around us again, and Saw just closes his eyes and nods.

In the silence in these woods, with the ground beneath my paws and the skies above me, I think- why do we fail?

I don't know. My stake is decided from conception.

There is a point where this needs to end I've clearly passed it.

* * *

"I'm going on ahead," I say to no one in particular. The woods don't listen, just rustle and shake from gusts of wind.

* * *

"Alright, whatever." Rask is more concerned with cleaning his knife of any specks of dirt to care.

"Let us know if you find anything," Saw adds, then coughs, hacking up mucus. He does not age well.

So then I'm stepping forward, crunching fallen leaves below my paws. Insects hiss and chirp at each other beneath the azure skies and fungus-covered oak trees. The horizon shows what looks like a creek flowing through an indent between two hills.

It's a serene image and one I'm not used to.

I wonder how long it'd take for all of it to burn and decay, like most locations I knew.

Sometimes I wonder if life would be easier if I were a mouse.

Or a squirrel or otter or another desirable beast.

But then I think, _I'd become what I'd hate._

Envy is a bitter little creature.

* * *

I arrive at this brook realizing I'm not alone. I see on the other side of this body of water is a mole. A little mole with squinty eyes and a nose that sticks out like a red eye.

I stare at it.

The mole grunts something unintelligible.

I stare at further. It huskily says something that my mind can't fully pick apart.

"I don't understand," I say.

It rears back.

"What do you want?"

Another series of garbled, heavily accented statements.

Then- "This beast bothering you?"

My head whips to my left, where an otter is making his way through a clearing. Tall with beige fur and in worker's garments, the bandana'd otter carries himself with a swagger not unlike that of a leader, not a follower. A trailblazer's aura.

The beast saunters up to my side, eyeing me with a mixture of interest, amusement and contempt.

"Not the usual stompin' ground for you types," he spits in a gruff manner. He doesn't sound old but his voice still carries the tone of someone who not only thinks they're good, but knows it.

I give a shrug, doing my best to keep my ground. "This isn't my usual home to begin with."

The mole says something but slurs his speech and still sounds incompressible.

It's here when I realize, I hate moles.

The otter, meanwhile, is not helping his own case. He circles around me, still thinking of what to make of this intruder.

"If you're not a local, then," he says, and he's close to me now, muzzle to muzzle. Close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath and hear his ragged, off-time breathing. "There's no real reason for you to be here, is there?"

"I don't want trouble," I say, raising my arms in protest.

"Sure you don't." A heavy push to my chest almost makes me fall to the ground. A sneer spreads across the otter's face, and he begins to stalk around me with a swaggering step. "I know your kind."

"Do you?"

"Yeah," he hisses. "Bunch'a felons. Murderers, liars, rapists, thieves, the scum of the earth. Seems like every time I see one of you vermin you're scheming something."

He looks me dead in the eye. I stare right back, but I'm also starting to wonder if anyone is around to back me up if things go south. I glance backwards, hoping to catch a glance of Rask or any wanderer.

No one's there.

I turn my head back and the otter puts a cutlass in my face.

"If I had my way, there wouldn't be any of you beasts. 'N this place would be a lot better, right, bruv?"

He turns around to his mole companion that barks something in agreement.

The mole snickers.

Then screams.

The otter whips around right in time for me to tackle him. Caught offguard, he trips backwards and I launch forward into his abdomen shoulder-first. A clattering noise informs me he's dropped his weapon; the cutlass lies not far from me.

The otter scrambles onto his back but I mount him and throw punches. One, two, three connect- then he tries to roll me off. I lean into a tree trunk and use it as leverage. He struggles a little more underneath my knees, then snarls, and starts to grab at my face.

I get poked in the eye first, and sure enough he tries to reach for them again in an effort to gouge them. I tilt my head back as far as possible as a result, but that simply causes him to claw at my neck. This is where, among the trees and the sky and a mole screaming bloody murder, this is where I grab his wrists, kneel on his chest, lean back and pull. Pull, pull, pull, like I did laboring for invisible crops as a child. I hear a second yell, then a third howl, which I realize comes from me. I give a final yank to the otter, who yelps, and then get back to my footpaws. The otter writhes and moans of his shoulders as I stand over him. He looks up at me, gasping for breath and trying to recover the wind that was so brutally canceled in his longs.

"Nothing personal, I'm afraid. Sorry about your arms."

Wide-eyed and fearing, he hiccups: "How?"

I cock my head.

"Don't you know my kind?"


	3. The Lowest Common Denominator

"Find anything?"

"Nothing, Rask."

"Y'got a swollen eye, mate."

"So?"

"How'd you get it?"

"I met a local."

"That so? You and 'em have a nice chit-chat?"

"Something like that."

* * *

Nothing interesting happens the next day, or the day following that one. Planning, hunting, gathering, with little success. On the second day I return to the clearing, but no one's there. Rask seems to take it in jest, but I would like nothing other to forget it.

I didn't mean to get into a fight on the first day in Mossflower. I mean, I gained satisfaction from the scrap and setting things straight, but I don't feel like I had to.

That otter went into the day with a preconception that I was a thug and criminal scum. I proved his opinion wrong by trying to dislocate his shoulders.

What a charming beast I am.

* * *

About a week in, we've struck gold. By that, I mean we've succeeded in a hunt for once.

It's a wounded bird. Of what species, I don't know, but it arrives in the camp tied with an arrow through a wing. It's writhing madly and snapping at anything near. It pecks ravenously at the rat unlucky enough to drag the bird by a rope, in a blur of talons and black feathers.

Us members of the camp, we just stare. I'm watching, not sure what to think. Few of us do, and as a result we watch,

Watch and see this bleeding bird shrieking like a banshee and jerking around at breakneck speed, each individual spasm like a boat crash.

"Good fight, ah?" Someone sniggers from the crowd. A few murmur in agreement before the bird tosses itself in their direction, causing them to scatter.

A rat to my left whistles in admiration.

Now, the rat who has been hanging on this rope, poor being that he is, cries out for help. At this point, he's more wrapped in rope than the avian is, and is dragged across the clearing mercilessly. The bird crashes into a tree with a shallow _thunk_ and stops dead in its tracks, silent. Yet the day is pierced with the rat's despairing scream as he's jerked forward by the rope. He skids across the ground, kicking up dirt and patches of grass before bouncing violently to a stop, moaning.

The camp bursts into applause.

* * *

The rest of that day was fairly tame compared to the previous events. The rat who got tossed around, his name was Clove. But now he's Rag, like the ragdoll thrashed about in the sunlight. Saw, he says that all Rag does now is lament about how that dumb bird didn't off him when it could.

The bird, I haven't seen much of it since the incident. Until now, where we're preparing it to eat.

You wake up in the morning as the apex predator and find yourself about to be torn alive.

This bird now is tied to a stake. I'm figuring his warped, tied wings have all been broken. Will, not so much. It ferociously snaps at any nearby creature, which is a bit of a problem, since the bird has been tied up in essentially the centre of camp.

Everyone's gathered up, watching this creature thrash. It howls and curses at us, and some of the crowd spit taunts and throw rocks at it, but no one moves to get close.

"Th' hell are we waiting for?" Hisses Rask, who is aggressively wiping his blade with fabric, save the fact that it's completely clean from my view. "Can't eat with your sight, can y'?"

"Dantalion's still in his tent," someone from behind us mutters.

"Then get him!"

"You do it if it bothers you so much, mate."

A not-so-gentle shove forward follows. Rask spins around to see his rival, but an ermine grabs him from behind.

"Take it easy," she says.

A brief though passes through my mind about not knowing any females that had made the trip, but now Rask is pulling me ahead.

"C'mon, let's get Dantalion."

"Woah there, Rask. Who are we to dictate whenever Dantalion makes his rounds?"

"Shut up, fox. This won't even take long and he won't be upset when we expl'n th' situation."

Then we're stepping past beasts in the direction of Dantalion's quarters. This means past that bird, too- and it takes notice, furiously throwing itself at us.

Rask takes exception to this.

"Leave it alone, he's on the stake anyway," I say as gruffly as possible. Rask, it takes him a moment to stop glaring at the mad bird. Finally, he spits, then turns back around.

Even as we walk away I feel as if that bird's talons are only inches away from tearing into my back. I sneak a glance backwards. It is silent but still stares at me. I see more disgust than rage in those runny, onyx black eyes.

Any rage on Rask's face has been flushed away, as we're on the proverbial doorstep leading to Dantalion's tent. For a moment, I think that this isn't a good idea, and that I should probably head back. Who am I to rush-

"Hark."

"Sire... I mean, thine lord," Rask has gone from quick-tempered rascal to stuttering buffoon in seconds flat, no doubt trying to find the words to come off as honorable.

"There is no need for titles, fellow beast. Be at ease," a deep, commanding voice rings out from the tent. "We are all equal here."

Out steps Dantalion, mad wildcat, genius to his followers and a manipulative bastard to his detractors, out steps he in common garb, with a defined limp and circles under his eyes. He looks less and less like the revered and mythical captain and more and more like anybeast, save for the eye scar and silver rings piercing his left ear. He is definitely not the strange, intense leader he was on the voyage; no, he has changed as sudden as the seasons.

"Rask," he says simply, in a tired kind of voice, then turning his head to me. "Landeskog," he says.

"Sire," I reply.

"No need for titles," Dantalion states again, ears slightly twisting in distaste, and for a split second I see a flash of the old feline. Then, it's back to this rapidly-aged identity. "There is nothing that separates me from any of you. I'm just as mortal as anybeast. I have one life-"

He's cut off by an ear-piercing squawk. Dantalion's expression is one of exhausted confusion; he leans past Rask (who's head is buried in his paws) to gaze at the clearing with a "what now" look. Fearing for the worst, I turn back to the centre of camp,

One of the rodents, a gangly rat with long whiskers and a bandana, is trying to set fire around the bird- to roast it alive. This bird, very clearly, is unhappy at this and has resumed its feathered frenzy, freely pecking away and clawing at anything near. The rat is cut under the eye from being raked with talons. Not long after this, a peck to the bottom of his chin has him cry out and stumble away, eventually falling down in the crowd with both paws wrapped around his neck. The bird shrieks out again, a raw, primal scream that would have shredded the vocal cords of any lesser being, one full of despair, frustration and pure and utter contempt.

Dantalion gives out a half hiss, half sigh and brushes past us, heading straight for the avian. Rask and I try to follow him, but we're cut off by the throng of beasts trying to surround Dantalion. Rask curses and disappears in the mass of fur and teeth, looking for a way out. I crane my neck over the heads in front of me.

There is a weasel with a large stick antagonizing the bird, when I see a familiar figure almost sliding through with a hip check to send the weasel stumbling back into the crowd. The figure straightens up, eyes suddenly blazing.

"Enough."

Dantalion is suddenly the legend he is, and a second later he's a tired-looking bandit. Nonetheless, he captivates like no one else can- even the bird on the stake is quieted.

So he's still got it.

For some reason, I think of my mother. And solar flares.

What?

It concerns me for a moment, but only until Dantalion begins speaking again. This time to the bird.

"What is your name?" He beckons softly, a far cry from the blunt, bold voice he used but seconds ago,

The bird, it tries to howl again, but the voice isn't playing along. Finally, slowly, gratingly, it growls, "My name is Aerien, kin of l'oiseau Siku."

"Aerien," Dantalion repeats. "You are a resident of this land, no? Mossflower?"

And Aerien, feather and fury that he is, rasps, "You no-good vermin!"

* * *

Wild-eyed and snapping, defiantly proud all while looking so pitiful. Somehow, deep inside, it pains me to see it this way. A part of me wants to see this bird spreading jet black wings over the skies of Mossflower.

Another part of me wonders how it'd look with its head on a stick.

I'm sorry, _but it's only natural_.

* * *

Dantalion crouches, head tilted. "Yes, us vermin. We who..."

Then gives a shrug.

"I suppose I cannot say the actions of those before me reflect who I am. I will not."

The wildcat stretches into a standing pose again, now face-to-beak with the bird Aerien.

"All your life, Aerien, your perception of beasts like me- cold blooded killers, liars, thieves, your perception is both accurate and horrifically wrong."

"Wrong," Aerien echoes sarcastically.

"You don't respect me, do you?"

"No," Aerien growls again. The setting sun seems to burn down on him, bathing the flier in a sickly orange glow.

"Which is my fight." Dantalion wraps his arm around the bird's neck, loosely hanging as if he were embracing a friend. "Tell me, Aerien, kin of l'oiseau Siku, would Mossflower be a better place if beasts such as I and my crew were gone?"

"Yes," the crow coughs, voice horse and clipped. "Kill you, beasts like you, much better place."

"A better place," muses Dantalion, who is seemingly relaxed with this bird, at ease as if around friends. "Yet I envision a world even greater than that."

Other arm wrapping around this bird's neck.

"No vermin, no criminals, no undesirable beasts. For there would be no undesirable beasts. Everybeast, in the ground, the sea, and air; all are equal and free to live. No more roles and ideals decided upon birth that hinge upon your species. Everyone truly would be equal."

"And that," Dantalion finishes, voice creaking, "would be a much better place, am I correct?"

The entire camp bursts into applause.

Aerien says nothing, as his spasms have become less frequent. Soon enough, he starts to go limp in the makeshift vice grip being applied.

"No doubt, every revolution has sacrifices made along the way."

Letting go of the bird, who simply leans off to one side, Dantalion moves to walk away- then suddenly turns around and plants a kiss on the dying creature's head, right above the right eye.

In a suddenly raw voice, he speaks.

"I knew you'd understand."


	4. Conduit

That night I slept. The next night, I dreamt.

The one after that, I drowned.

* * *

A wide ocean, the waters shimmering blue. Waves blow in; large ten-foot rollers that splash underneath the shimmering sun are in sight along the horizon.

It would be calming, serene view. Here I use would- it is neither calming or serene as I suddenly plunge into the sea.

Suddenly, violently, I crash into the water. My first reaction is none at all- the shock renders me helpless.

Then I start kicking and flailing, fur rapidly getting wetter as I windmill my arms trying to keep my panicked head above the waves. I am gagging and spitting, saltwater threatening to flow into every opening. Some of the liquid I accidentally inhale- and my brain is burning. I yelp, splashing around in the middle of the sea I have no reason being in.

I paddle, paddle, paddle, coughing up swallowed water as I bob up and down. Eyes wide, absolutely horrified. I don't know how to swim, I think, as I slowly begin to sink.

I writhe and flail and it seems to do nothing as I submerge. Neck first, then base of the head.

You never learned to swim...

I sputter and gasp, trying to raise a paw for help in this lonely sea, and I swallow more saltwater and cough. Oh, no.

I make one more gasp for air as I go under, holding my breath.

Into the ocean, falling. Falling into the ocean and you never learned to swim.

I can't see the bottom, I can't see the bottom...

_Why can't you see the bottom? _

_Why can't you see the bottom? _

_Why can't you see?_

* * *

I wake up screaming.

* * *

The next day, on our daily half-walk, half-patrol, Rask asks me if I'm doing alright. I tell him I'm fine.

"Do you know that there's an abbey to the south?"

Dantalion's delivery is casual and relaxed, which belies the pacing cat's look. Today, the aura around Dantalion is focused and buzzing with energy, another one of the identities he seems to take on daily. It's off-putting and inviting at the same time. Right now, he's in the centre of camp, having finally stopped pacing. He leans amicably against a stake in the ground- the same stake that days ago killed a bird. The wildcat chews on a strand of grass, eyes darting from member to member, burning with a curious intensity.

"This abbey goes by the name of Redwall," he states flatly.

The crowd murmurs a bit.

"It was built many seasons ago by a mouse by the name of Martin, and it's population is fairly large."

"So?" Someone barks.

There is an inward hiss in the crowd and I feel a pang in my chest. You don't interrupt a captain, especially one like Dantalion. Furthermore you don't undermine and disrespect a beast like a wildcat. Dantalion flares up, jerking up from the stake, face stern.

"My brothers and sisters," he says, with, somehow, no irritation in his voice, "This abbey is home to many like the beasts who placed you and I into this situation. Ones that view lives only in two categories- desirable ones, and you and me, the common vermin, the alleged scum of the earth."

There is booing and hissing, and Dantalion simply shrugs. "I know," he mutters.

The crowd noise dies down a bit, then goes completely silent as the cat in front of them stretches out his arms, held out as if nailed to an invisible cross.

"It is our task, you see," voice rising with a noted inflection in his tone, "to overturn regimes like these, to restore order and equality."

To the awestruck crew: "My brothers and sisters, pledge today that we will not stop until everybeast is truly equal."

The dedications flow forth.

* * *

So that night I decided not to sleep. Not so much fear of my dream ocean as much as the spark of flame the Redwall plan lit into my mind has hung on and doesn't let go. I try to fall asleep, but it doesn't accommodate me tonight.

Instead, I lie eyes-wide-shut in the clearing in the centre of camp, arms crossed, duvet over my chest as a breeze sweeps through Mossflower. Anybeast would call it chilly in normal circumstances but some of the crew mill around in the dark clearing, still buzzing. It's time for a change and we're the catalysts. Redwall falls at dawn. We'll finally be equal.

All these sentiments are simmering in the hearts of everyone here, including mine's. I think of my mother, and my home, and how I'm slowly but surely getting control of my life and a better world.

These sentiments don't lull me to sleep, though. For that, I'm frustrated.

_Krrsh_

_Krrrrsch_

_Krrrrrrrsssszzzch_

What a terrible noise, damn.

I couldn't sleep if I wanted to.

I sit up, listening closely to something, an audio foreign to me. Like twigs snapping and being mended together at the same time, like branches falling and flowers budding. This sound seems to drill right into my skull.

"Any of you hear that?" I call aloud. To no one in particular, but it comforts me to hear something secure. I get no replies other than several grunts and confused shrugs, though, so I'm apparently alone on this matter.

Maybe it doesn't to Dantalion, Rask, or any of the crew, but this noise is slowly killing me.

I think to myself, this wind is probably it.

The wind calms, but the sound doesn't. It continues to rustle and shake and crackle nonstop.

This is when I get up, spinning wildly.

Where is that damned sound coming from?

_Krrsh_

_Kkkrrrrrrssssh_

It is almost as if it is mocking me.

_Kkrrrsch_

_Come find me_

There.

"Where are you headed?" Someone calls, it's that female I saw days ago, Anizev; But I don't answer, I just briskly jog in the direction of the noise, the dreadful krrrsh krrrsh.

After several minutes in the surrounding underbrush, I wonder if I'm going mad. I should probably just plug my ears, or sleep in the tent, or something just as inane. Give up, find another way. The noise is what it is, that's life.

* * *

_Death to cowards, traitors, and empty words_

_

* * *

_

No, I refuse.

Then I'm tearing through grass and leaves and bush, head cocked at an angle as to always hear the direction of the noise. It's getting louder, and I'm getting worse. I must be close!

And I stumble into the brief ditch in front of me, crashing shoulder first and skidding across the ground, smearing mud against my fur. Wincing, I note that the noise has finally stopped. A sigh of relief tries to escapes my muzzle but gets canceled by something on my neck.

I look up and stare at the javelin pointed accusingly just above my jugular.

* * *

eastside hockey manager 07 is a terrible timesink


	5. Emarosa

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't put this bladetip through your neck, fox."

And I mutter:

"Give me one reason why you should?"

* * *

I remember a point in my life living on the other coast, a land where the skies seemed to be eternally crowded over. The best way to describe this place would be with a color- gray. Dreary, pale and washed out, alleys lined with disease and poverty. This land never really had a name, yet it is the hub for us.

Why? Because it was.

You see, we have seemingly a cycle- the youngest generation starts the revolution, the oldest are the standard bearers, but the middle child is simply there.

Us, the middle generation, here to hold the status quo.

* * *

The voice above me chuckles.

"I've only known you for a minute and I hate you."

At this time, I feel that the tenseness against my neck just so very slightly, but I scuttle inches back regardless, putting distance between a sharp edge and fur and flesh.

I look up at this squirrel above me, who is wearing a cloak much too big. Ear piercings that look too uniform, a scar right in her neck- right where the javelin aimed in mine, the general aura of alcohol. This squirrel, she's most likely self-fashioned herself this way. Maybe the locals think she's intimidating.

We have a term for beasts like her, though: common wankers.

Salamandastron's Long patrol. The otter I "met". This female. Try-hards.

And yet this try-hard unlikeable little... Prick stands above me, victorious and with a weapon ready to slit my throat if I even exist in the wrong capacity, which I figure is my entire life.

"What's your name, fox?" The squirrel demands. Her voice is stern, like she's done this before. As if she is a specialist at hunting down insomnia-stricken beasts in the middle of the night, a grizzled veteran. Something in the back of my head makes the assumption she probably is.

"What does it matter?" I spit, ears low. I push the javelin off to the side away from my face, feeling a little more secure about things. The thought process for some with a weapon in their face usually includes one of three things:

Staring down your assailant with either defiance or fear. Usually the latter.

Trying to fight to get away or to gain control of the weapon, with either success or critical failure. Usually the latter.

Third option is to wait it out and try to evade out of it. This works, sometimes it doesn't, usually...

Fortunately, I am the former, the other 10%, the outlier. I'm slowly easing the spear away from me, even though it's firmly in the squirrel's grip and she could easily slay me. Usually, she would.

Instead of slamming it through my jugular, however, she simply crouches to my eye level, as I slump up against a tree, breathing ragged gasps of relief.

"I could have ended your life right then and there," she says coolly. "I didn't. You aren't even polite enough to introduce yourself?"

* * *

For a million milliseconds I dream of spitting straight into her eye, her left one, beady and brimming like a crosshair. I think of this, then shoving her onto her back- no, her stomach, rear-mounted strikes are more effective, I dream and fantasize of straddling on top of her and raining down blows like a storm brewing over an autumn sunset. My razor raindrops cutting through her fur and then her flesh and then her muscle and then her bones, her screams like a wave in the water, a crest of fear and desperation.

I got carried away there.

It happens, I am vermin.

* * *

"Landeskog," I bark, glaring.

"So you're not from around here."

"Are you?"

"I thought foxes were supposed to be the smart ones," she says, mouth slowly turning upwards into a smirk. Prodding me with the butt end of the spear, the squirrel female rolls her eyes.

I grunt, and she just sniggers.

"Gutless ones, too."

"Stereotype," I protest. "Like how you ran me down for no reason at all."

She shrugs. "I had a reason, a perfectly valid one."

"That being?"

_Rap! _Wooden end of her javelin across the top of my head. I yelp and cover my head, eyes straining.

"You're vermin," she states plainly.

For some reason, I think of falling into the ocean. Crashing from the sky, wind blowing all around me. I'm in the air, hurling down to the sea.

But this time, there is no impact. The ocean never reaches me, I'm stuck in limbo. Falling from the sky, but I've never learned to fly.

"I never learned to fly," I say aloud to no one in particular.

Squirrel female raises an eyebrow.

I shrug again.

"You don't think that lowly of vermin."

She scoffs. "Lowly? You are garbage, blemishes, screw-ups on this earth. I hate you, your kind, an everything you stand for."

"You don't hate me enough. You're still talking to me when you've had the chance to kill me at any time."

"I still can," she begins to rebuke when I start to get up on two legs. The female reaches for her javelin, which I scramble for. Me being a fox is one of the factors in why I beat her to the punch- I lead off with the brunt of my shoulder and crash into her, reaching for the dropped weapon with my other arm. The diving shoulder block is enough- I hear her gasp- but I land on the ground on my belly, still trying to grip the spear.

I feel someone kicking, and my ribs take the brunt of that one. I roll away to my right, reaching for anything in my belt- I can't remember if I equipped a cutlass or not.

I get into a crouched position, paw hovering over my belt buckle. The squirrel female looks at me only a length away, grinning.

"Do it again," she says.

"I don't want trouble," I state, backing out. I can't remember what direction I entered this area from, but any direction will take me to a safer location. "I'm leaving. I'm going."

"I want to fight you," she continues. "I like you. I have to kill someone like you."

I'm backing away as fast as possible.

"Don't follow me."

"I won't," she says. "We'll meet again. We'll have a proper battle then, right? I'll be waiting. I'm Marla, daughter of-"

Whatever else she had to say, I'm not hearing it over the rustling of bushes and twigs snapping beneath me.

I can't get that thought of falling out of my head.


	6. Icarus Descends

_I am peripheral m**ov**ement, a figure of not form but intent. I am the ind between your wings, the air you breathe, the worlds you cherish. I see myself in the cracks of your civilization. I am all and nothing, the alpha and the omega._

_Heed my message and despair: I am going to end you._

_I will become the stinging rain, the hurricane, the purging of Animos. F**auvism.** As far as the sun and as fast as time, justice will reign._

_The sword that cuts you down will be raised by my hands. Your cloud nine has fallen from grace; Rue the day that you soiled this land._

_I cannot, will not, be like you._

_I_

* * *

woke up in a cold sweat, on the verge of tears.

* * *

"Strange things happ'n in the nighttime hours," Rask tells me. "Don't obsess over it."

It's early morning on the day we march upon Redwall, the date we make our intentions known. Any other beast should be excited, nervous, ready to write history. Any other beast, I suppose, is excited and ready to write history.

"But I'm not," I think aloud. "Something's out there and I can feel it. Threatening."

"That's change."

Dantalion has somehow crept behind us again. The wildcat seems to always know what's happening. Has an eye and ear on everything at once, as beasts say. Beasts I never knew.

Dantalion casually takes a seat next to us, his strange, off-kilter energy swirling all around us. It's both inviting and disconcerting; you can't help but feel alienated by the feline, but at the same time you're also so very enamored with him, as if you're naturally beckoned to follow him.

Some are born blind, others are born deaf. Dantalion was born an enigma.

"Change scares a lot of beasts," Dantalion says. "They hate it, and hope to stop it, even just delay it if they can. There is only so much they can do, however. The momentum is always in the hands of the initiator."

"I kinda get what yer saying," Rask pipes in. "Like somebeasts only have a little effect 'n not much of a say in things, but us, the fellas that started the change, it's our time, we have the power to make this happen."

I expect Dantalion to agree and tell Rask he gets it, that the ferret is aware of what's at stake and that he's at the forefront. I'm expecting anything but the wildcat laying back and crossing his arms, jade eyes staring into the horizon.

"Your sky is so much bluer than mine."

* * *

The march into Redwall territory at dawn is uncomfortable. The whole abbey is larger than I expected- much larger. Even more, the location has a strange aura, one that threatens "you are not welcome". Like I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't. Here, among at least three scores of beasts with a cutlass in my holster, I'm feeling threatened.

Something is wrong and needs to be righted.

We are that wrong.

An aging mouse in a similarly worn robe is peering at us from some sort of watchtower- it's almost comical as you can only see his top half, and at that it's mostly ears, glasses, a nose and whiskers. The old churchmouse resembles a grotesque oversized ragdoll, a puppet with limbs grown in all the wrong places.

This old mouse squeaks, "What is your business?"

Imagine that- politely asking a ton of armed vermin just what they're doing.

You can't hide civility.

Before we can give an answer, the ragdoll mouse lowers himself from view. We're left standing out in the open, idling for what seems like an hour but in reality is probably only a matter of minutes. It feels like eternity, for all the wrong reasons.

It begins to rain. Torrential.

Those enormous blast doors of the abbey swing open- the radius is so big the entire group has to step back. I crane my neck to glimpse at the event, but it's no use at the back of the line, so I'm treated to the back of some weasel's fat head.

"Why are you here?" Someone asks- a deeper voice, I figure it belongs to whoever was behind the doors.

The next voice is clearly Dantalion's- blunt and off-putting. "This is the second death in the exquisite art of forgetting."

Wait.

"Yo**u'r**e _blin_d in every other eye."

This can't be right.

* * *

The crowd parts ways and I'm staring at Dantalion. He's grinning from ear to ear and his eyes are pitch black. Stepping closer.

* * *

And closer.

* * *

Closer.

* * *

"_My c_hil**d**," Dantalion-not-Dantalion says, wrapping his arms around my neck. "Fadi**ng** faster than time."

I'm trying to break free of his grasp, but it's no use- it's as if trying to pull apart tree trunks. He draws closer, those... Void-walker eyes staring into mine. He kisses me and I try to jerk back out of reflex.

He begins to laugh.

* * *

"Hahaha," he says.

"H_aha_ha.

**H**a.

HA**HA**HAHAHAHAHA.

H_a_ha.

_**HA**_.

H_aha_haHAHAH**AHAHA**ha_haHAHA_haHAhaHAH**AHAHAHAhaH**A_AHAh_a_**HAHAH**_ahAH**A**Ha."

"**T**his," he says, finally letting go. I stumble backwards and land on my back, wide-eyed. "This the last goodbye you'll ever hear."

He draws his sword.

I close my eyes. Suddenly submerged. Flooding. Drowning, coughing, brain feeling electrified. Falling into the ocean.

A sharp pain in my stomach.

Everything goes **black**.

An eternal rest. I will never

* * *

Wake up."

"Wake up, damnit!"

It's Rask. The only thing I can really say in response is "whuh", out of pure confusion. My body aches all over, I can only open my eyes to slits. I can see a quarter of Rask looking surprised, then relieved, then upset.

"What the hell were yer doing, Lander? Standin' around gawkin'. Nearly got yourself killed."

"Whuh?" I can only mumble again.

"Long story short, those Redwallers are feisty, hateful little critters. Didn't take kindly to us," Rask chuckles as if fondly remembering the situation, but his face quickly hardens. "We fell back- except for you. Ye stood there like y'was petrified."

"You were shot with an arrow," Dantalion says. I bristle and desperately will my body to work, but nothing happens. Just me lying in camp staring at the sunset. "We almost lost you, Landeskog."

"Iii'm deeaaadd," I stammer. "You killed me. I saw it."

"Yer being ridiculous, Lander, you need to get some rest-" Rask is cut off again by Dantalion, who I sense hissing inwardly.

"What did you see?" He asks.

There's something very wrong with Redwall, as if something- or someone- is possessing that place.

Whatever's there, it knows.


	7. Birtheater

_**O**ne day his father went off to war. to fight a war for something that wasn't worth fighting for. A forceful pry at his eyes to see a beautiful world that had been taken from him._

_"This is killing me," the child said to his mother, "is this the true face of the world?"_

_"The weight of this has got me on my knees," he said with no response from his mother._

_The young child was scared now._

_

* * *

_

"I saw something out there," I insist.

It's night time and by all means I should be dead. Something nearly got me killed. This hallucination of death personified has driven me to tears and shaken me to the core. I just don't get it. Something beyond my control. I thought I came here to change the world and mine is being torn at the seams. I remember musing about how the apex predator became the hunted. I feel hunted before I even reached a peak-

"Landeskog," Dantalion says. "Get a hold of yourself. Now."

Even in panic I decide it's a good idea to listen to the wildcat.

"You had... A vision. This isn't that much of a surprise because the vulpine kind are noted seers. Maybe you saw something, maybe it was a message. More than likely, it was just a damned hallucination. A haunting.

Know this: I did not kill you. You did not drown. You are vermin. You are unwanted, unloved, and cast out. Among all things, however, you came to Mossflower to change that.

But heavens above help me, if you give up on this now, you are killing yourself. You're killing the future of every beast born to an undesirable sign. Furthermore you are killing the dream- the single collective dream shared by every beast in this damned camp, and that is unacceptable.

This has to stop.

Am I understood?"

* * *

The sky splitting in two, stars raining across the land. Crashing in front of me as my skin bubbles. Screaming in agony as demons rise up, tearing one another asunder. The ground splitting, molten rock spitting out like geysers. Fire, destruction, chaos. The end of innocence. I can't stop staring at the moon as tsunami waves drag me under.

* * *

"Am I understood?"

Blink. Everything is fine.

"I..." Swallow hard. "I understand, Dantalion. Thank you."

I can't sleep at night, so instead I watch the stars.

But even then, the skies glare at me.

* * *

"Not far away is an abandoned church," Dantalion addresses us. "I believe it's in our best interest to expand our operations. We'll have a safe haven and a strategic hub for the battle to take Redwall, minimizing the sort of risks-" of course, risks being stated a little bolder than usual- "that we fell upon previously."

It's the dawn of a new day but I'm struggling to stay awake. The leading feline has called a meeting of sorts after yesterday's march failed miserably. I suppose Dantalion isn't a good tactician, but then again I had the impression he wasn't that good of a speaker, either.

"Dantalion!" Someone calls out from the crowd. It's the female, Anizev. I've noticed that she and Rask have spent a lot of time together, which I figure is promising. At least someone here has been able to put aside their troubles.

"Yes, Anizev?"

Dantalion prides himself on knowing everybeast's name, as such he comes off as more personable. In theory.

"What will become of this camp, sir?" The ermine calls out (Dantalion audibly sighs and grumbles "I'm not a sir, I'm myself"). "Are we abandoning it?"

"Not entirely," replies the wildcat. "Consider it expanding our territory, a concept many of you are familiar with."

Some muttering from the crowd. "I thought the entire point of this trip was t'get rid of these concepts," hisses a surly rat behind me.

"I had assumed that this group would have a better work ethic regarding something as familiar as this," muses Dantalion, his voice a disappointed tone laced with venom. Just enough of an edge to wonder if he's pitying you or mocking you. "No, I should keep my tongue in check. Most here are ready to help and good beasts. There is a minority that sailed here and expected freedom to be handed on a golden plate. It is, clearly, not that easy."

The sky seems to start blurring.

Then he turns and looks me right in the eye and says, "**I**f _y_ou **wa**n_t_ t**hi**s, come _**on**_.

Pry it from my cold grip if you believe you'll run with **ghosts**.

I am **M_os_**sflower.

I a**m** Redwall.

**I** am unstopp_able_, in**divisible**, _im_movable and i**mmortal**.

I'll be your** e**n_d_ of

* * *

days," the wildcat says. "We'll send one group tonight, another the next."

I blink rapidly, holding my head from a sudden massive headache. Dantalion is talking to some wide-eyed weasel as if what I just witnessed never happened.

Right, I remember what he has said earlier. It didn't.

A pair of paws grab me by the shoulders and twirl me around.

"Y'alright, lad?"

It's Saw, the old pine marten, beady eyes narrowing. "Y'er doing the same thing that nearly got ye killed. Staring into space like 'at, like ye saw your future."

"I don't even know what I saw, Saw."

"Lander, if there's summat wrong, y'can always talk to ye old matey here . I keep secrets to the grave, and I'm probably goin' to mine soon."

"Don't say that," I mumble, half listening. I'm still mostly trying to sort out these... Things I continue to see. Finally, I grit my teeth as hard as I can, then relax.

"Do you think Mossflower's alive?"

"What a stupid question," Rask cackles between placing items into a bag. "All life's alive. Did that incident knock your brains out, too?

"No," I snap back. "I mean, it knows. Do you think it knows?"

"Look, I 'unno, and gotta get goin'."

"Rask," I say.

"This place is alive. It knows we're here. "


	8. In Rust

I couldn't feel less alive.

It's another sleepless night. I want to just close my eyes and shut out the world; disconnect from everything. Is what I'm doing making any difference or are we simply humoring ourselves?

By all means I should, and would, have curled up and retreat from the earth, like the turtle inside its shell. Alas, it's never that easy. Nothing's ever simple anymore. A mundane task like falling asleep I can't do because my brain is firing thousands of synapses per second.

There's a reason why this place has never fallen. Got to be. No other explanation. Someone in this wretched place has to know.

* * *

_"Mother?"_

_She's not responding. Lying out on her side, clutching something that glitters in the moonlight._

_"Ma?" The young beast asks again. No response. He moves closer, placing his paw on her shoulder. She's unnaturally cold._

_It figures, the beast reasons with himself. Times are hard. His mother said she was a merchant; he often didn't see her until dawn or dusk, when she was already headed out again._

_"C'mon," he mutters, bemused. Shaking her back and forth. "You can't just... Sleep out here."_

_The mother vixen says nothing._

_"Ma?" The beast grumbles, trying to wrestle free the strange glittering trinket from her grip. "What's so special about this, anyway? It's a..."_

_His expression of exasperation turns to horror._

* * *

I can't let this happen. I'm letting myself and everyone else down if I don't battle on. Letting my family down. Remember what Dantalion said.

Late night, dark out... Which way was the church? It's so cold out. Why is it cold?

Stumbling back up into a crouching position, I crane my neck at my surroundings. I can make out a clearing up ahead, though I don't remember if it's the church's path.

Against my better judgement, I move forward.

* * *

_"Ma? What's this?"_

_So very quiet. The answer never came._

_The youngster rolls the knife around in his hand. Sharp. Wet. Violent. Nothing he wants to do with. He sticks it in his belt like the father he barely knew used to do. Kneeling, he does the only thing he really knows how to do; he hugs his mother._

_Mid-embrace, he weakly barks out, "Mother."_

_No response._

_He had reached the end of innocence._

* * *

I heard something. Something rustle. It might be a beast, it might be the wind, but my heart is in my throat.

"Who's there?" I hiss, readying my blade.

It's a must these days.

Oh, hell, not you again.

"Again? Interes_ss_ting, we have never met. Not on my terms, as it is."

* * *

I think my spine just jumped out of alignment.

* * *

"Show yourself!" I demand, with only a fraction of the calmness I wanted to show.

"You wish the world you know to end, no?"

"Just... Who are you, what are you, and what do you want?"

"I go by many names. You may refer to me as Elaphe, although I doubt you'll need to. I'm... Bored."

"Bored? Then your idea of fun must be bollocks."

I'm a little pleased with myself at this statement, but my chuckle turns into a gasp as Elaphe slithers out into the moonlight.

"You're a snake," I stumble over my words, more or less stricken with fear.

"Ah, yes, wonderful observation skill. I was told Seers were naturally smart."

"What do you want?" I say again. The reptile raises up and if I didn't know better, I'd say he was smiling.

"For me, daydreams aren't as bright as they used to," Elaphe muses. "I'm often alone. You and I are not so different in that regard; unwanted, unloved. Ssso much time alone makes a beas_ss_t curiou_ss_s."

Elaphe's red scales seem to glitter in the moonlight, and for a moment I think of the bird, Aerien, the one who went from sentinel of Mossflower's skies to mincemeat in a day.

I think to myself, I am Aerien. I awoke as a beast wanting to find his place in a world that wants nothing to do with him. I'm going to end up dying unceremoniously. And even worse than the thought of dying is dying so pointlessly. Here lies Landeskog, came for change, died chasing a snake.

"So tell me, fox," Elaphe says, clearly amused by the fact I'm wide-eyed and trembling, "what bring_ss_s you to Mossflower?"

"C-change," I begin, trying hard not to think of the words _poisonous, _or biting. "I came here with many other beasts to change the world. Where no one has to suffer because they're of the wrong species."

This elicits a thoughtful chuckle from the snake. "A noble ta_ss_sk. Are you planning to take Redwall?"

"Yes," I answer, trying hard not to think of the words _fang_, or searing, or **venom**.

Elaphe laughs.

Have you heard the sound of a snake laughing? It sounds like death.

"And you will fail, like so many before you," Elaphe twitches his tail back and forth, as if regarding an old family story. "Yes_ss_... Many beasts have tried to break down those crimson walls, and none of them succeeded. There is_ss_ a reason for that, fox. Do you know? It isss watched over. By a guardian. By his sword, none shall passss.

"Do you ever notice it, fox? The slipping of the grip of your blade at the wor_sss_t time. The tree falling before you in a thunderstorm. Critical failures_ss_, but why? Luck, perhapss_s_."

Then, his slitted yellow eyes lock with mine, and what I assume passes for a grin stretches across his face.

"However, fox, I've seen many seasons upon this land. I have seen the unthinkable happen, things_ss_s somebeasts don't see in a lifetime. It is simply something more."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Elaphe "winks", before starting to slither away. Before he disappears from view the snake turns around one more time, looking me in the eye again with those Goldenrod eyes.

"I'm warning you to get out while you s_ss_till can, fox. Walk away. Redwall Abbey will be end of days if you don't."

And just like that, he's gone.

* * *

The church doesn't feel like sanctuary anymore.

"Oi, Lander?" Rask slurs, the ferret wiping sleep from his eyes. "Wot're you doing 'ere?"

Then he looks at me again and tilts his head to the side.

"'N why're you trembling?"

All I can do is grimace and shake my head.

* * *

a/n » have you ever started a story and it ends up going in an entirely different direction that you had planned?


	9. The Tide

"This is ridiculous."

"Just follow me, would you?"

Rask's face is contorted into a mask of annoyance, and with good reason. He's been woken up in the middle of the night by possibly insane (I don't think I've ruled this out) fox, and then forced to wander around an abandoned church at dawn.

"Lander, y'know I like you, but cut this out," he whines, stepping over a dismantled pew. "This whole "haunted house" act is bollocks. Yeh, we've had a rough go of it, but things happen!"

"Yes," I respond, pushing clutter out of the way. "Things happen for a reason. Something is behind this."

"Would it kill you just to take things at face value for once?" Rask complains in an exasperated voice. I shoot him a look, but the sable ferret only shrugs. "Anizev's probably wond'ring where we sodded off to."

"Should've brought her, too," I mumble.

"Anizev has nothing to do with this," Rask insists. He sidles past an overturned altar and kicks a rock out of the way.

"This has to do with all of us," I say. "Just... Quit the complaining and help me open this door."

There's a door at the northeast end of the chapel that presumably leads to the church's storage and a staircase to the undercroft; though I'm not well informed about these places. I remember going to a church maybe twice as a child, and both times I was too young to remember anything that happened. It wouldn't have mattered anyway; I'm not desirable. No religion, no love, could save a wretch like me.

"Some staircase," Rask grunts. "Doesn't matter where it leads to. Eh, does it matter where it leads to?" He adds the last bit at the end with a sideways glance in my direction.

"As a matter of fact, it does."

"Sure. What makes y'think I wouldn't ditch you and leave you in here?"

"Because," I smirk. "You're afraid as well."

"Bollocks, man!" He gives me a shove, eyes glinting for a moment. "I'm not scared."

"I see it in your face," I hiss. With a little more intensity than I had hoped for, and Rask jerks back, unsure of what to make of this.

"Lander, y'r taking this too far."

"Go down the stairs."

"What?"

"_Go down the stairs._"

The ferret stares at me for a brief moment, then begins descending the staircase. I follow suit, and soon we've reached the bottom of the stairwell. It's dark, dank and airless, and only seems to upset Rask more.

"This is ridiculous," he says again, with significantly less conviction.

"There's a door," I say, pointing at the wooden frame that lay ahead of him. "To the undercroft."

"What, the cellar?" Rask squeaks. "Where they keep the caskets?"

"I don't really know, that's why we're here. I have to know."

I grab a squirming Rask by the collar and push open the withered wooden door, which creaks sorrowfully on its hinges. The room it holds is wide and stonewalled, but doesn't appear to hold anything important.

Rask tumbles in front of me, and we both enter this room. Cold, and somehow hard to breathe in.

Rask makes a weak whining whimper sort of noise. "Er, Lander? There's something on the wall there," he points to something etched in the stone. "I can't really see it through the dark..."

I step carefully towards the stone wall, unable to make out the symbols from a distance. Upon further inspection, that's all they are. Symbols...

* * *

**Runes.**

* * *

Something seems to ignite in my brain.

"Get out of here."

"What?"

"We need. To get out," I say between gritted teeth, clutching at my head. Pain sears through me, and my vision gets a bit blurry.

"O-open the d-door out," I stammer. "To the..."

Rask swings open the door so violently I fear it will fly off its hinges. It doesn't, however, and Rask pulls me with him through the doorway for several steps before abruptly stopping.

"Where's the staircase?"

"What do you mean, where's the stai-" I'm cut off by my own gasp. I'm looking at a long, straight, pitch-black hallway.

This isn't the room we entered from.

"Oh, hades!" Rask exclaims. He curses and twists his head to and fro, eyes wide. "Where is our way out?"

"F-forward," I guess. With that, Rask is hauling me through the darkness, me with my eyes shut because of the pounding, throbbing, searing sharp pain wracking my skull right now.

"Why can't I see anything?" Rask complains, slowing down to a halt. "Just where are we?"

"And stop joggin' in place," he adds. "I've stopped movin'."

"So have I," I reply. "It's not the sound of my steps."

"Then who's makin' that noise?"

I squint and all I really catch is Rask's horrified realization.

And up ahead of him, I can see a pair of eyes.

And another.

And another.

"Oh my-" Rask stammers. "S'that a spider?"

"Get back!"

* * *

It's almost comedic, in a way, how we run back into the cellar room. Like two frightened children in a nightmare, shrieking and pinching themselves. Begging, "Please, just-

* * *

"wake up! I don't know what to do. This 's... Wake up, damn!"

A cacophony of feelings greet me in my reintroduction to the living world. White-hot agony in the head.

"Wwwuh," I stammer, as only I can.

"There was some creature back there and we headed back into the cellar 'n then you passed out," Rask stumbles over his words attempting to get them out.

His voice cracks and his eyes go wide. "What if that thing-" craning his neck back referring to the creature we saw on the other side. "What if it found Anizev?"

"Rask," I groan, propping myself into a sitting position. "Everything is... Everything is going to..."

"Going to what? Going to be alright? Everything is not going to be okay. The only thing I see is the path to madness, Lander!"

"J-just shut up," I do my best to growl in frustration but it comes out as a whimper. "How long was I out for?"

"I don't really know. It's just-"

"It's just what? Listen, you can yell at me for as long as you like once we get out of here. But first, we have to get out of here."

I grit my teeth as I stand up and push past a miserable-looking Rask. I throw my shoulder into the wooden entryway, and wince as it doesn't budge.

"Door's locked," I grunt.

"Whad'ye mean it's locked?"

"As in, the door is locked and cannot be opened."

"But why, though?" Squeaks Rask, who's sounding less and less like a dangerous rebel and more like a frightened child. Wide eyed in the dim cellar, he holds his head. "This ain't right, this ain't right..."

"Just, shove it and help me break the lock."

"Um, Lander?"

"What?" I snap, pounding on the cellar stones with a closed fist. A cold shock comes over me, and I at first think I might have injured myself punching the wall. However, the chill was fast-moving, wet, and starts at my ankles, getting higher and higher.

"We have bigger problems," Rask murmurs.

My blood runs cold.

Water. Icy, abrasive, and suffocating- and it's building up in the cellar at a rapid pace, now up to my knees. As it reaches my pelvis, some deranged, off- its-rocker corner of my mind thinks, "so this is where they keep all of the holy water?"

Rask yelps and brushes past me, flailing at the door attempting to get out. I look down and the water's up to my sternum. I can't even see my legs in the water anymore, as if this was quicksand.

I can't see the bottom.

I throw my shoulder into the door again, struggling, pressing my weight against it. It feels like something on the other side is pushing back. Like it wants us to stay in here. The water's up to my collarbone and rising.

"No!" Rask splutters. The water is up to our shoulders now, and for me it's hard to breathe. Rask is almost howling now. "No!"

And I think, this isn't how I envisioned dying.

I wonder if my mother is watching this. Is she watching over me? Or simply watching?

With one last grunt I push on the door again, screaming out. And in the back of my head I hear a voice, hypnotizing and distracting, soothing and upsetting. It's calling out to me. Congratulating me?

_Well done._

The door swings open.

Rask and I tumble through in a mix of limbs and fur and sweat. Both of us drenched and water still pouring out from the damned ocean-cellar. In the distance, I hear a cry of surprise. Anizev, in the chapel, sleepy-eyed but still headed for us in surprise.

"_Ssssaaffeee_," Rask mumbles. I can only grit my teeth and stare. We shouldn't be here. Here, in the chapel.

That door lead us into the chapel despite us entering from the undercroft.

"What happened?" Anizev asks, eyes narrowed in concern. "Why are you guys all wet? I thought you two had gone on patrol or back to bade or even scavenging, bit then I heard you screaming."

"This place," Rask concludes, still on his side and lying down. "feeds on screams. A symposium conducted by somethin'."

"And that something," I say. "I believe it spoke to me."

* * *

good lord did this take an inordinate amount of time to write


	10. Oneiric

I'm still soaking wet. Rask is ragged and heaving, heavy breaths that seem to echo through the cathedral. Both of us, quite frankly, look ridiculous.

"You two look ridiculous," Anizev says.

She kneels at Rask's side, staring at me with accusing eyes. "Where did you go and what did you do?"

"We were in the church undercroft," I say.

"And we didn't do anything," Rask groans. "_I_ didn't, 'nyway."

"You two are soaking wet in a church with the nearest body of water a day's trek away," Anizev frowns, pulling Rask into a sitting position. Rask is still coughing and wheezing, sounding something a bit less sincere than a death rattle, yet still unsettling to hear. "Rask's all... I don't even know."

She looks up at me again, with confusion.

"What did you get us into, Lander?"

* * *

_Nothing can be obtained by grasping at the wind_

_There is no escape from the dualism of life, vanity of vanities._

_I am embittered towards these lives for their failures_

_Yet I possess all of these same shortcomings._

* * *

I used to wake up in cold sweats, shivering from head to toe. I can't even close my eyes at all now.

Rask is curled up, still wheezing, eyes shut in the chapel darkness. Not even the events that happened here are enough to bar him from sleep. Anizev watched over him in a manner that made me think of my own mother, though even she fell asleep, leaning against a toppled pew. In any way, I should have joined them in rest.

But I can't. Every time I close my eyes, I see myself dying in more and more elaborate ways. And every time I die... I see that symbol. That insignia.

The rune looked like a blade in the waves, though it was so incredibly strange, I couldn't and can't make heads or tails of it. A tilde crossed out? Something more?

I don't understand and that scares me. I lay awake in nights like this, staring at the ceiling, or the stars if I can get outside. I think of how I'm a statistic and at best I'll be mentioned as ancient history in enough time. I am not immortal. I can accept that.

But the thought of there being something more is what keeps me wide awake from dawn to dusk.

It's the little things; he slight movement in the corners of my eye. The air acquiring a chilled breeze from out of nowhere. The feeling like I'm being watched by someone. This someone, somebeast or something more or maybe less. Lurking behind every door, thousand ember eyes watching and waiting. A creeping, stalking death. Someone with influence. Not influence over other beasts, influence over the very domain of this land. As if the valleys could, and would, crest solely by his willing it. Someone with power.

And the feeling that this someone doesn't like me.

The hours pass and I still feel like I'm being watched.

* * *

"I'm sick of this," I mutter.

"But I adore her."

I jump up, bristling. "Rask?"

"Nnnnn," he groans. He's lying on his side facing away from me, chest still rising and falling erratically. Asleep. This is something given to dreams.

"But I adore her," he's droning again.

I briefly look towards Anizev, who's still asleep. Who knows what she's been through to get to this point. Rask, clearly, has taken a liking to her.

For the first time in what seems like an eternity, I smile. Facing the black as jet void, I'm smiling, finding jest in someone's romantic woes.

"Bbbuuut this will..." Rask says, surprisingly clear for someone unconscious. "Never..."

"You're talking in your sleep, mate," I whisper gently.

I grab Rask's shoulder to try and rotate him onto his back.

This is where I notice his eyes are open. His eyes are solid black, runny, as if they'll overflow from his sockets and leak onyx fluid onto his muzzle.

"But this will never happen."

It seems almost like puppetry. Long, night-colored tendrils coming out from his orbital bones. Wrapping around me like coils, cold yet dry as sand. Scratchy and foreign. It reminds me of birth in some way. Rask begins calling out; names, trees.

None of these places sound like home.

Screaming at the top of his lungs, eyes running over like a fountain, Anizev just laughing and crying.

_Why_, I ask. _Why is this happening to me_?

Rask looks at me- you can't see his pupils in that wretched ocular pool, but I know he's staring, and says, "This will never happen."

And it feels like my very fabric is being torn asunder. Bones, skin, fur, pieces of me, peeling off. Falling to the ground shattering like vases. And I'm howling over Rask's screaming and Anizev's laughter, trying to pick up the pieces, putting them back together like a jigsaw. Every breath is labored and the air is salty like the ocean. I'm bobbing up and down in the sea, waves drowning me. I can't even see anymore. It took my eyes. I scream and scream and-

* * *

This will never happen.

* * *

Blink.

Everything's normal.

Rask is curled up, but silent, thankfully with nothing jutting out of his eyes. Anizev is snoring. All is silent in the chapel- still pristine and bright. It's morning,

_Nightmare_, I think. A bizarre, intensely disturbed nightmare, but nothing I hadn't already been through.

"Hey," I call out.

Anizev wipes her eyes, squinting at the sunlight. Rask mutters and grumbles and rolls over.

"I think we need to get out of here," Anizev declares, yawning. "I don't like this talk about a labyrinth. All in all, Dantalion needs to know about this."

Rask grunts, "Take us far away from here. From that thing inside." He nods as if to bring us back to the creature we saw in the undercroft.

"We can leave, but it will still be here," I reply. "Not in the undercroft, not in the church, it's everywhere. Waiting."

* * *

a/n: i know i'm terrible and need to try harder. sorry for the delays.


	11. anchored Awake

"**W**e're leaving," Rask declares. "Leaving. You're definitely not yourself, Lander. This place has something wrong with it- it sure ain't like any proper church I've ever been to."

"How many churches have you been to?" Anizev asks.

"Not one," Rask replies, stuffing supplies into his bag. "Until now, anyway. 'N this can be the last one."

"You don't understand," I mutter. "The church, it's just the beginning, what's behind it is-"

"I don't care," Rask snaps. He stares at me with a mixture of reluctance and fear- he doesn't want to spend another night here, and damned if I want to imply otherwise. "I don't care what it is, I want no part of it, bruv. Y'hear?"

I clasp a paw to my forehead in exasperation, although in the pit of my heart, I agree. The church is cursed and there's easily something monstrous here if the previous day was any example. Part of me wants to stay and let them leave, but I know they'd be lost without me.

And I'd be lost without them too.

"I suppose Dantalion will want to know what happened," I sigh.

"Think clearly, Lander," Anizev says. "Tell me just what went on in there."

"If I knew, I'd do something about it." Stepping over another gnarled root, I trudge along with Anizev and Rask on the path back to camp. Everything seems to run into each other; like a forest repeating itself every acre. It seems like I've traveled past the mossy rock and chewed up tree branch for the sixth time. I know I'm just overthinking things.

Everything is starting to bear down on me... I feel like the smallest of slights seem to affect me like impending doom. Since I arrived in this strange, foreign land of Mossflower, I can't shake the feeling that I don't belong here.

Even worse is the feeling that I'm not the only one who thinks so.

* * *

"I want to go home," Rask grumbles. "Really home. Not this, not the camp. Back home, where at least I wasn't seeing things like this happen." To illustrate his point, he spits in disgust, saliva splashing the ground like tides against the coast.

I need to stop it with the ocean imagery, I think out loud.

"Hm?" From Anizev.

I tell them it's nothing, not to worry. Unimportant.

Like I shouldn't be worrying about the reoccurring dreams of drowning, at first night terrors of being lost at sea but becoming waking dreams and day illusions that strike at any moment.

In all of these visions, I'm always eventually sinking, but there's no bottom; no visible end to the depths. Nary a fish or any sort of ocean life- just darkness.

I never learnt to swim.

"It's going to be a moment before we get to camp, really," Rask says. "But I guess the main thing is getting the hell away from _there_."

"Worry about Redwall, not the churches," Anizev quips. I haven't noticed until now, but they're locked arm in arm. Even through possibly living structures, a hallucinating fox and enemy territory, they're at least able to find solace and comfort in each other. When Rask limps and loses a step, it's Anizev's eyes he looks into and then continues to walk.

I'm happy for them and yet I wish it away; I guess it reminds me too much of the growing loneliness I've been feeling. I'm feeling an emotion more than terror- I'm feeling pain. I hurt where it matters the most, the soul.

* * *

Somewhere out there, my guardian angel is weeping.

* * *

Time passes, and I've probably walked across more land today than some beasts do in a year. I'm past the point of exhaustion. My legs are working like automatons now; I can walk but I cannot feel.

"It's like we've passed this tree for the umpteenth time," Rask moans. "We're lost. No doubt about it."

Anizev sighs and rolls her eyes, but it's obvious that she's tired as well. "Perhaps we should set up camp and rest," she says. "It's getting dark and we've traveled for most of the day."

"We have nothing to set up a camp with," I grunt. "Nothing but our clothes and the things we carry. I can at least make out the lights of a campfire in the distance."

Rask comically flops forward, grumbling. Even though his frustration is very real, I can't help but crack a wry smile at this predicament. Poor Rask, dragged into all this.

Dantalion said something about writing history. It goes both ways; if you don't watch your step, you'll fall off the pages you've written.

Standing here in the woods on a nameless Mossflower evening, I wonder if I strode too far, if I'm in too deep.


	12. Transitions from Persona to Object

**W**e enter camp fairly quickly after that, and it becomes duly obvious things have changed. Everybeast has become more ragged, seemingly, even though we had barely been gone. No one's smiling and everyone is hurting.

Dantalion had attempted another try at democracy. The Redwallers let him, Saw and some other rats in their abbey, but refused to agree to his terms. Dantalion left in a rage. Words were exchanged and a brief skirmish followed; not with swords and shields but with knuckles and teeth. The rest of the group never left the abbey, they said. Dantalion made it back but Saw and company were still in Redwall. Not captured, they speculated, but simply lost.

I thought of the church's maze and my heart rose to my throat.

Dantalion's failed attempt at bureaucracy has not gone over well with the rest of the group. Reportedly, one disgruntled member spit in the wildcat's face and left.

I'm told Dantalion simply cleaned himself and smiled

* * *

, but not the way he's half grimacing, half-greeting Rask, Anizev and I as we seek him out by the campfire.

"Back so soon?" He queries, regarding us with a bemused expression. In general, the feline looks more exhausted than anything- not physically, but mentally. There are beasts that always have a plan B, and Dantalion's second attempt still failed.

I think he's found an opponent and it's dawned on him that he may not be able to overcome the obstacles in his way.

"We did find a church," Anizev says, voice calculated- unsure of how to approach the situation. "And, we ran into some issues th-"

"That damned church was possessed," Rask grunts.

For a moment, Dantalion's eyes flash. "Is that so?" He hums, looking straight at me.

"Rask and I stumbled upon a number of strange things in the chapel undercroft," I declare. "What seemed to be a maze, runes, and-" I think of the horrid creature with eyes, no defining features except for red irises staring out from a black void- "Things you and I probably weren't meant to see."

The wildcat crosses his legs. With his ears pinned to the sides, the gesture seems to represent the sheer frustration this entire endeavor has caused. "It appears Mossflower has much more to it than meets the eye," he plainly states.

* * *

**W**eighing _my t_**i**me and running down dreams.

* * *

"This is bollocks, chief," Rask grumbles. "I didn't ask for this."

I wince, expecting the wildcat to rear up and strike Rask for his insolence. Instead, Dantalion just sighs.

"There is only so much I can do to placate and comfort you," he tells the ferret, exasperated. "Only so much I can say, anyway. I prefer to be a beast of action."

"Beast of burden, more like it!"

That got his attention. Eyes widening, Dantalion arches his back and cranes his neck. Approaching the campfire is a surly looking rat. Stocky and dark, the tribal-looking rodent approaches Dantalion with an expression of scrutiny across his face. "What a load. All you've done is talkin'. Every plan y'have fails. Those damned abbeymice from Redwall beat us, and chances 're none of them's ever lifted anything sharper than a _kitchen knife_. This is embarrassing, and a disgrace to the beasts you swindled here."

"Well?"

"Well? _Well_?" The rat leans in as the crowd around us begins to thicken. The vermin shoves his snout right into Dantalion's view, eyes full of malice. "I could do a better job o'this than you". After a brief pause: "I _should_ be doing the job."

"But you aren't," Dantalion sighs. "I suggest you stand down before you're out of any occupation."

"Stand down?" The rat is growling. "You're a common wanker, you know that? You are a _joke_."

"Stza," Dantalion calmly murmurs. "I like you. Don't do this. You're losing sight."

The rat, Stza, grabs Dantalion by the collar and gets up close. Face to face, eye to eye. "I'm losing sight? You," he hisses, "you've lost sight. You're becoming everything you hated. Y'put on this facade of tranquility, but I know this isn't you. Where's the damn fearsome warchief I sailed with, eh? I'm here with the rest of 'em sacrificing my body out there."

"What do you know about sacrifice? You are no lamb." Dantalion's voice is wavering, like something beneath him is trying to break out. "Don't patronize me. Furthermore, don't patronize yourself, friend."

Stza roars, his grip going straight to the feline's neck. We watch, dumbfounded as this rat begins to choke Dantalion- or at least attempt to.

The wiry muscles in the wildcat have become active once again, as he effortlessly wrestles the rat away from his throat. In one moment, Dantalion grabs Stza's free arm, pulling the rat by the shirt and twisting it over his shoulder. There's an audible pop, and I wince. From here in one fluid motion, Dantalion sweeps out the ray's leg with a kicking motion, leaning forward. Stza's sent sailing over the wildcat's hip, head over heels- right onto the campfire's open flame.

It only takes a moment for the rat to catch fire; even as he attempts to catch his fall, red-hot tongues of flame begin to spread across his clothes. Spinning twice, he unleashes a bloodcurdling yell before crumpling to the ground, moaning.

"How dare you," Dantalion is saying. "How_ dare you_."

Stza emits a high-pitched blend of whine and groan as the fire spreads. I can almost taste the scent of burning fur and flesh as it permeates the air with its stench. He spasms and shrieks, skin literally melting from bone.

"How _dare_ you bring such selfish and ignorant views down upon this group!" Dantalion thunders, looking more and more like the savage beast on the _Horizon Runner_. "This campaign is not for petty gain; it affects entire generations! If this fails, your children and your grandchildren will suffer from the same discrimination and apartheid that you went through. We can not break. We can not stop after coming so far, and we must work as a group. Putting one's self before all is the downfall that fell so many before us."

Stza is motionless, the fire seemingly engulfing him. No one moves to help him; no one wants to risk the wrath brought upon them.

"No mutiny," he growls. "No fears about imaginary monsters," he glances at me, and my heart sinks, "and no turning back. Am I understood?"

"Yes!" There's a rushed, panicked agreement from the troops. Someone whimpers.

"Good," Dantalion declares, a nigh-demonic grin etched upon his face. "We march on Redwall tomorrow night."


	13. decădere

With creeping suspicion starting to swell over me, I eventually convince myself to sleep that night.

I'm staring out at the ocean from a great distance, standing on crushed leaves and dead grass, this cape overlooking this dream bay. It's dusk, a wind blowing in from the west.

This isn't my dream.

None of this is really mine.

Seemingly, the world begins to spin. The ground shakes and rumbles threateningly as the core of this dream-earth begins to rotate on its axis. Involuntarily, I think off a glass jug being uncorked, rapidly freeing the content within.

These tiles, these grassy, dead, unnatural floors beneath me begin to crack. They shudder and moan, spasming out.

I stare out at the ocean, unmoving. Despite what's happening on land, the sea is still, quiet. Almost serene.

* * *

•FAU

**V##**

_\\ISM__

* * *

I watch something- no, someone, emerge from the water. It's an avian creature, some kind of owl with snow-white, blank feathers as long as the trees that stalk over Mossflower. The massive bird with pooled black eyes soars out with no waves or ripple, simply exits. It rises, higher and higher.

It opens its beak, a massive, gaping maw, revealing nothing- antimatter, infinity, pure darkness. It could swallow me whole and I could see anything and nothing, like the sky on the blackest night.

A booming, thundering voice, not so much coming from the owl as assaulting me from every angle, amplified by the void.

"You **sh**_oul_d not ha**v**e **co**_m_e _**h**_ere."

The ground beneath me is all but gone. I stumble back, crashing onto the last stone plateau that hasn't crumbled.

Staring up at the colossus bird, hundreds of thousands of thought race through my mind, but I can only muster up the courage to meekly gasp:

"Why?"

"You and your group have tried to overthrow my kingdom," I hear. My ears are splitting, but I can't cover them, as I'm grabbing onto anything to keep from careening into the void below. "I cannot stand idly by as my domain is threatened."

"We have every right to be here," I grunt. "You look at us and see nothing worth liking, so you bar us, discriminate against us, and kill us, even when we've done no wrong,"

"It is true I see nothing in you, but whereas you and your peers perceive at face value, I look into the soul."

"Look in my soul, then," I challenge.

"Regret, fear, loneliness, apathy, pride;" the voice barks. "Everything wrong with beasts- you, fox, are no different."

The plateau beneath me is beginning to shake. I don't have long, and as I look upwards I can see bright streaks of light falling from the sky.

"Who are you to judge? What makes you perfect and immune to the vices you claim I have?" I shout. "You are not better than me, be damned!"

"Landeskog," the voice says- now feminine, now something familiar. Not Anizev, not the squirrel Maria, it's...

* * *

Mother?

* * *

"Landeskog," I hear her repeat, again. Everything is going silent- ground still rumbling, yet the event makes no noise. I feel... _At peace_.

* * *

'MARASM

* * *

"I'm not your mother," the voice snaps, back to its original furor.

"Look into my eyes," it says. "Do you not believe I know suffering?"

שמע י**שראל יהוה אלהינו יהוה**

there was no war it was him him him him him IT. IT! it came from between the folds of time and space and worlds and light and dark something that is but should not be IT IS STILL HERE

אחדistandatthegate

to

be

* * *

Think for me, Landeskog. Think of a beast.

He doesn't remember from his childhood on the North Shore other than when it ended. He never knew his mother, and his father left to the seas not long after- leaving him with his grandmother and the sword.

That sword would nearly be the death of him, but eventually ensured his eternal life.

Horrible beasts arrived upon the shore, ripping him from the grasp of home. His grandmother Wildred died during the journey to Fort Marshank, leaving him orphaned. Under the rule of the stoat tyrant Badrang, he had toiled as a slave for years, exacting his revenge- sword through the heart. The only girl he'd love died in the final siege; as a result he went far away to distance himself from the Eastern coast and what transpired there.

Soon enough he reached a place called Mossflower, a land in a state of unrest. Verdauga, the thousand-eyes wildcat king's long reign neared an end- his own daughter poisoned him, ascending the throne at his death. Tsarmina did what many others simply did not think of- the sword of Martin the Elder was broken in two.

It was reconstructed by a badger warlord, blade forged from meteorite. It was here when it first began to speak to him, much more than anything else. Everything else was simply unimportant. He never wed and had no children.

Landeskog, I assume you know who I am referring to, and who exactly I am.

Martin the younger warrior son of Luke. I cannot die.

I was buried beneath the abbey I helped build. But as you are quite aware, my spirit lives on. It has to. This land will not fall to the things I've fought and witnessed.

This is mine.

* * *

The owl burns like a Phoenix in flight, flames licking at its wings like hungry pups. With in moments it is completely engulfed in fire, I can briefly make out the outlines of a mouse, and then it is all gone.

The plateau falls apart and I am sent tumbling into the void, down down down into the dark dark dark cold dark cold dark endless and I just want to

* * *

_Wake up._

_A voice above me asks, "What're you panting and sweating for?"_

_"Mmmmar," I groan. I open my eyes and immediately regret doing so in the sheer brightness of the morning sunlight. Anizev's silhouette is visible in front of the burning sun._

_"You look like you've just ran across the ocean from here to Salamandastron," she crosses her arms. "Screamed all night, too. Bad time to go kooky on us, Landeskog, it's the morning of the day we march on Redwall."_

_I look at her and smile, relaxing against the heat. They have no idea._

_I am afraid._


	14. Adâncitură

I don't remember much about the morning except a terrible headache.

"I'm thirsty," I recall saying. "I'm so thirsty right now."

"Dunk your head in the river," Anizev says. It's been such a long time since I heard her talk without a worried bent. The snark makes me grumble, but I'm secretly relieved. Some things don't, can't change. "You'll be refreshed in no time."

"Is Rask alright?"

"No, none of us are alright. We're all feeling like we've become the damned and forsaken."

I stay quiet for a moment, eyes closed. On my eyelids, insects crawl over Anizev and Rask and Dantalion and Saw and Maria and Mother and I, and they're all corpses, _dead_ and **rotting**, but I'm not and I can feel them all over me. On my arms, my chest, crawling into my ears and into my brain and into my mouth and throat and lungs and heart and I'm lost I'm so completely and utterly lost

"I meant to say," Anizev muses. "Rask isn't doing well, but none of us are models of health and longevity right now."

I open my eyes- no bugs, no corpses.

"I agree," I finally breathe out.

She crosses her arms but seems more or less satisfied. "I just wonder what Dantalion has planned after we take the abbey."

"I wouldn't know. He wouldn't think about heading to Salamandastron yet."

"I've seen him occasionally mill about the Lightning Sunset," the Marten replies. "He's got plans, that's for sure."

"Many of them." I'm really only coasting through this conversation, but Anizev doesn't seem to mind.

"Well," she smiles, clapping her paws together. "I feel like I can do 'em all. Do you?"

"Eh," I shrug.

I feel many things but none of the feelings elicit any emotional response.

* * *

_My teeth feel strange. I've been told that I have been grinding them like gears during my dream hours._

* * *

"This is our personal reckoning, a judgement day, a time for vengeance, rewriting and making history," someone is saying. "We have to stand up and fight. No, we will stand up and fight."

It's not Dantalion, but his rhetoric has been imprinted on nearly every remaining member of the regiment. The camp seems to bristle with a newfound fervor; the end of the song and dance is near, here's our chance to finally get our hands on those Redwallers. Stereotypes be damned. They can think what they want of us, but we're still going to walk all over them.

However, I don't share the infectious enthusiasm. I've run this situation in my head hundreds of times, each with the same events and endings.

We storm the abbey and nearly pillage it, and any dissenters will be run through with the same blades used to slay the abbeymice. The abbott might get killed, someone tries to pull a heroic sacrifice, yet it will appear all for naught. We advance upon whatever goal we see fit. Then we will lose.

I already know how we'll be struck down. Something will happen. A young hero carrying a sword he quested to find. A wall with a "cave-in" trapping invaders. Reinforcements or someone we thought was dead making his or her last stand.

He won't let His perfect kingdom fall. Why should I even throw myself to the gallows?

For them it's war, but for me it's better to just walk away.

* * *

_Alleviate your guilt; no one feels good at this age._

* * *

"Are you feeling well?" Dantalion asks me.

No, not really.

"That's too bad."

Indeed it is.

"Looking forward to our inevitable triumph?"

Sure.

"We're writing history, you know."

Dantalion, if you were to attempt to prove the point that alleged vermin are not bloodthirsty murderous monsters, why would you paint yourself as a bloodthirsty murderous monster by trying to invade an abbey?

"We're no different than the martyrs that died for righteous causes."

What if we die for nothing and everything stays the way it is?

"What if we die for something?"

Why do we have to die?

"We don't have to. We can live on and still taste victory."

We can't win.

"Yes, we can."

Are we going to win?

"Yes, we will. We have to."

I'm not sure what I want anymore.

"You'll have anything you ever wanted."

I never asked for that.

"We ask for what we desire, but we always get what we need when we do the right thing."

I turn to look at Dantalion, but no one is there.


	15. We The Sky That Might Fall

Consider the no-longer reflecting mirror.

It carries nothing beneath its veneer. Once a conductor of light, it's now nothing but a particularly inspired glass cut. For this reason, it is condemned to a lifetime of irrelevancy- who wants a defective item?

Many things are the makeup of the world, yet it takes the absence of only one for that object to become obsolete.

It is the absence of something, some quality or virtue, that has rendered many in this timeline unsavory. Rats, weasels, foxes, all creatures damned and divine- vermin. What is it that the vermin lacks that a desirable species contains?

To many beasts, the mouse is a paragon, the nadir, a veritable master race. What is the difference between a mouse and a rat, really?

The vermin tears itself apart much better in packs and seems eternally destined to do just that. It's not a question of design, but designation.

Is this really what we're on this earth for?

* * *

_"I am defective."_

_It always continues._

_"I am unwanted."_

_"I am wrong."_

_"I am useless."_

_"I'm barbaric."_

_"I am irredeemable."_

This is what the camp is chanting. This, the proclamations erupting from souls still bound to the earth, is the result of Dantalion's speech; it's another installment in the lectures he seems to give daily.

"I'm disgusting," Rask says.

Someone to the left of me adds, "I am worthless." It is a cacophony of self-loathing. I'm sitting on a grassy knoll, and I nod along. I still subscribe to most of Dantalion's views, but it has been increasingly difficult to join in on the enthusiasm. It's not that I don't want to do this- in fact, the feeling plaguing me is resignation.

Resigned to the fact that I will have to bring down Martin or this entire campaign will be for naught. It's on my shoulders and it is surely a burden that can only be lifted on success, or the end of my life.

I could just as easily leave, but death awaits in any direction. I might as well see this through to its inevitable conclusion.

The weight of this new, strange, cold, unfamiliar world is squarely on my shoulders. Even so, it's not fear that I feel, not nervousness, not trepidation. I am not entirely sure on howto put this emotion into words.

"We are the irregulars, the misfits, the court jesters of society," Dantalion calls out to the crowd. "Yet here we are on the brink of history. We are the savages, the liars, murderers and thieves, and yet it is us who raise our names into Elysium. We are many things- scum, heteroclite, deviants; pathfinders, trailblazers, conquerors, _heroes_."

He raises an arm and the legion cheers, clapping, hooting.

"I believe," Dantalion continues, lowering his voice to a whisper and yet losing none of the intensity that seems to course through the crowd like a preacher at a revival- "I believe that the Redwall Abbey is simply nothing more than a dying aristocracy. Tonight, we can _fall into this_- like a daydream, or a fever. Dethrone royalty, save the world."

_Dethrone royalty, save the world._

* * *

Death awaits.


End file.
